


Coffee, Tea and Greek

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: Different First Meeting, Coffee Shop, Explicit Sexual Content, Greek - Freeform, M/M, Med Student John, Misunderstanding, Mystery, Sherlock Flirts, Silly Sherlock, alternative universe, collegelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Med student John's plan to learn Greek takes an unexpected turn when he stops by a new coffee shop and meets the unusual boy behind the counter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, you can leave them in the comments or at JW's tumblr page, which can be found [here](http://ivefangirledandicantgetup.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

John's eyes were drooping as he leaned over his book, trying to keep his head up. He had been studying verb conjugation for two hours now and he was still struggling with them -- there were so many different endings! And the spellings -- he was never going to get a hang of the spellings. He needed to make flash cards, but if he stayed in his room, he was never going to get through it. It was dimly lit, and his cozy bed was calling out for him louder than his brain could focus. He needed to go somewhere else. He shook himself awake and packed up his supplies. 

The library would be closed at this hour, and he knew sitting in a restaurant would be useless. He would want to eat and then he would be stuffed and happy and even more likely to doze off. He tried to think of an alternative when he passed a flier for a new coffee shop. He moved closer to study it, taking the address down. The most important detail? It was open all night. It wasn't long before he found it. It was brightly lit and surely full of so much caffeine. He went inside, looking up at the little bell as it clanged against the door. The place was completely empty. 

He went up to the counter and looked up at the menu, his mouth slackening a bit. Were these even proper drinks? All of the names were . . . odd. He looked around for an employee. "Hello?" he called out. 

Sherlock came out from the back room where he'd been smoking. He didn't care that his brother had told him not to smoke inside. He was supposed to be acting normally, and smoking is what Sherlock normally did. There hadn't been anyone in the entire time he'd been there, and he'd already finished reading the book he brought with him. Surely this whole experiment -- Sherlock getting a normal job to act normally with normal people -- was an utter failure, and he hoped it wouldn't last much longer. He moved over to the counter and saw a man sitting there. He was handsome but looked terrible, exhausted and close to defeat. Given the time, the location of the coffee shop, and the man's appearance, it was clear that he was a desperate medical student here out of need.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked.

"Um . . ." John startled and took in his appearance. He was holding a cigarette and he looked really annoyed. John shook his head to clear it. None of that mattered. "Can I get a large strong coffee?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. He took a long drag off his cigarette and stumped it in the sink. He reached around for the first mug he could find and filled it, setting it down in front of the man. "This may or may not be a large, but if you need more, just tell me and I'll refill it for you. It is, however, definitely strong."

"Uh . . . great," John said, taking out his wallet. "How much?"

"Five pounds or two pounds or it's on the house, I really don't care," Sherlock said.

John blinked at him, then looked up on the menu board to find plain coffee and get the price. But it wasn't up there. At least, not with a name he recognised. He took out two pounds and slid it across the counter. "Can I have some milk?"

"Milk's an extra ten quid," Sherlock said, sliding the coin into his pocket.

"What?" John asked. "Never mind then." He took his mug and went to a table in the back, a bigger one meant for a few people. He took out his book, his notebook and his note cards, taking a big sip of the black coffee. He winced -- it was really strong. He got to work, feeling better already than he had in his room. 

Sherlock watched the man move and spread out over a table. He grabbed the milk and followed him. "I was joking about the milk," he said, setting it down. "But there is a large table charge -- this table could seat six and you're using it for one so I'm losing money here." He didn't walk away. This was the most interesting thing that had happened since he'd got in.

John looked up. "There's no one else here," he said. 

"At the moment, yes, perhaps that's true, but who knows what will happen in the next minute? A whole crowd of people might rush in here and you're taking valuable space away from them. You'll see," Sherlock said, turning and staring at the door. He waited a full minute and, of course, no one appeared. "Still," he said, turning back to the man. "You get my point."

John watched the door with him and when no one came, he looked at the man with a small amused smile. "Well, how about I only pay the fee of someone comes in and is bothered?"

"All right," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table with the man. "How are we going to figure out whether or not they're bothered? Should we whip up some kind of survey to gather their opinions?"

"Well, let's figure that out when they come in," John said. "I have a lot of flash cards to make so . . . " He trailed off and watched him. 

"Yes, I see that," Sherlock said, fiddling with the cards. "What's all this about then?"

"Well, blank cards at the moment," he smiled. "I'm studying Greek. Attempting to, anyway."

"Why's that then? You in politics? Thinking of running for the Greek presidency?" Sherlock said, still moving the cards around the table. "I don't think that's a good idea -- their economy's a mess. . ."

"I'm studying medicine," he said. "The root words are all Greek, well, mostly. It sparked my interest, I thought it might be easier if I learned it."

"I see," Sherlock said. "And why exactly are you studying medicine? And please do not say it's to help people."

"But that's the truth," John said. He plucked the cards from the man's fingers and started writing on them. 

"Sure, of course," Sherlock said. "How's your coffee? Need a top up?" 

"Um, I've still got half," he said. "Is there an extra charge for a refill?" 

"The second one is just 2p," Sherlock said, standing up with the mug. "I'll add it to your slate." He returned quickly. "I put some bubble gum flavouring in it."

"Bubble gum?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. He added a bit of milk. "I hope you didn't." He took a careful sip and smiled softly. Then he got back to work, glancing at the man since he continued to sit there. 

"Just a joke," Sherlock said. "So . . . what do you want to talk about ?"

"I . . . look, I appreciate the company, really. I just . . . I have a lot of work to get through," John said. 

"Oh, sorry," Sherlock said. He immediately stood up and moved behind the counter. He lit a cigarette and leaned over a bit, staring over at the man.

John worked quietly for about ten minutes, moving through the flashcards quickly enough. He glanced up. "You shouldn't smoke," he said. 

"I thought you were too busy to talk," Sherlock said. He took out another cigarette to light, just to spite the guy.

John rolled his eyes and went back to his note cards. He was almost done. This would make things a lot easier. 

Eventually, Sherlock shouted over to the guy again. "Are you done then? Does this mean you want to talk to me now or are you just going to leave?"

John was flipping through his finished flashcards when the man called out again. His class was late in the morning and a few more minutes wouldn't kill him. "I have a few minutes," he said as he started packing up slowly. 

"Well, I'm too busy to talk now," Sherlock said.

"Oh. Alright," John said, standing as he packed the rest of his things away. He doubted that was true, and a part of him thought to bother him on purpose now like he had while John tried to work. But then he hadn't really been a bother. 

When the man got his coat on, Sherlock called to him. "Here -- you forgot your complimentary takeaway coffee," he said, holding up a paper cup. "It'd be rude not to take it."

"Oh," John said, flushing lightly. That was nice. "Um, thanks." He took the cup and looked over at the man. "Is the table fee on my tab, then?"

"It is," Sherlock said, grabbing a piece of paper sitting near the till and scribbling on it. "It comes to a total of ninety-six pounds fifty. Let's call it an even hundred . . . with your tip." He held out his hand.

John smiled. "A tab is something you accumulate and pay later," he said. He raised his cup as he backed out of the door. "Good night," he called back over his shoulder. 

Sherlock smiled as he watched the man leave.

John walked back to his room but didn't drink the new coffee. He had enough caffeine and didn't want to be up all night. He set the cup on his desk and unpacked his bag to get the flashcards, catching the word written on the cup. For a wild moment he thought it was the man's number. Then he squinted because it looked like gibberish. No, not gibberish. Greek! He lifted the cup and looked at the word more closely. Βαρετο. John got out his dictionary and studied the letters. He sounded the word out, then went to the correct page in the dictionary and scrolled through carefully. When he found it, he was confused.

_Boring._

What did that boy think was boring? His job? John? John's homework? He closed the dictionary and set it next to the cup. Next time he went back he was going to have to ask.


	2. Tea

Sherlock had spent the next few days pouting. Mycroft had insisted that he increase his hours at the coffee shop, and Sherlock was not happy about his parents going along with it. Just because he'd left university early didn't mean he was 'lost.' He wasn't lost -- he was deciding what he wanted to do next.

However, despite the fact that all he did was remind his family that he was legally adult, in truth these reminders usually came as he was stomping around the house, acting very much like a child. So he was now back at the coffee shop, still pouting, just this time without an audience.

John was too busy to go back to the shop the next day. He was able to study the cards he made while he worked on homework from his other classes – they were much easier for him to understand so he didn't need caffeine boosts or harsh lighting. He was still rehearsing what he was going to say about the 'boring' cup when he went back to the shop, but his enthusiasm was slowly fading as the days passed by. It would be odd if he went now, so many days later, and brought it up. He doubted that man even remembered John. 

When he was caught up with his other work and Greek was the only thing left, John packed up his things and headed down to the cafe again. He wasn't sleepy like last time, but he was practising conversational sentences and, well, he just wanted to do that at the cafe. When he walked in and saw the same boy, he chickened out from bringing up the cup. "Hi. Can I get a tea, please?"

"Didn't like the coffee, eh?" Sherlock said. He turned and grabbed a mug and pot, filling it with water, and putting both on a small tray. He grabbed some milk from the fridge and set that there as well. "Milk's free with tea. You don't need sugar, do you?"

"No, I don't take sugar. The coffee was good, I'm just not sleepy right now," he said. He took out his wallet and glanced at the board. "I can never find anything up there."

"Forty pounds," Sherlock said. "Should I put it on your tab?"

John bit his lip to fight back a smile. The tab seemed to be turning into John getting things on the house, but he felt guilty about that. "Sure, but in the meantime I will give you two pounds for the use of the tray," he said. 

"Fine, but just so you know, I'm pocketing that money, it's not going to the owner," Sherlock said. "So if you're just trying to be a 'good' person, it's not working."

"It is working," John said. "Now whether you decide to be a good person . . . well, that's up to you," he said. 

"Right, well, that's not going to happen," Sherlock said. "So what are you doing here?"

John shifted the bag on his shoulder. Clearly this man remembered him, and he was comfortable enough to tease John so why couldn't John as well? "Do you think I'm boring?"

Sherlock looked him up and down. He leaned over as if trying to see the back of him. "Probably," he said as if he were delivering a diagnosis.

John felt a bit taken a back, but he hoped that didn't show on his face. He lifted his cup in a silent thank you and went to the big table in the back again. 

Sherlock grabbed a mug and went over to the table. He sat down and poured himself a cup from the man's pot. "And what about me?" he said. "Do I seem boring?"

John looked up at him. "Boring isn't the word I would use to describe you," he said. 

Sherlock let the hint of a smile appear. "What word is?" he asked.

John held his gaze, still trying not to smile back. "Tenacious, I think." He took a sip of his tea. "Why do you think I am boring?"

"Because you refused to talk to me," Sherlock said easily. "We were the only two people in the shop and you wouldn't speak to me, preferring to look at your stupid cards instead. Very cruel, and cruel is boring."

John laughed. "I was studying! That's why I came to the shop! If we had plans I wouldn't have ignored you," he said. 

"So when you're a doctor and you run across a man having a heart attack on the street, you'll just keep walking because he didn't have an appointment?" Sherlock asked. "You are cruel."

"No! That doesn't compare to this situation at all," John said. 

"Why have you come by today?" Sherlock asked, taking a sip of his tea.

"I have some more studying to do. It gets tedious in my room all the time," John said. 

"Hmm . . . so you decided to come here, a hotbed of excitement?"

"I don't need excitement when I study. Just not a warm bed calling my name," he smiled.

"You have a talking bed?" Sherlock asked. "That's quite interesting -- you should have told me that last time."

John couldn't help smiling now. "You're very distracting," he said. 

"You're the one who brought up beds," Sherlock said. "I was just trying to learn more about you, and you're the one who went straight to the bedroom talk."

John flushed lightly but didn't look away from him. "Not so boring then, it seems."

"I guess I was wrong," Sherlock said. "So what else is interesting about your bedroom?"

"More interesting than a talking bed? You have high standards," he smiled. 

"Bouncy?"

John nodded. "It's really soft so I assume it must be," he said. 

"And you . . . are you as interesting as your bed or is that your main selling point?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see," he smiled. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sherlock said, sitting up a little in his seat.

"You're very picky about what you find interesting, so I'll keep coming in when I can and you can decide for yourself," John said. "I really do have to study," he added. Even though he knew that by coming here, there was a chance that he wouldn't get much work done at all, he hadn't expected them to talk the whole time.

"Right," Sherlock said, standing up. "I know what that means -- I've got to leave you alone or you'll start in with the cruelty." He moved back behind the counter but then returned with a new pot of water and a few biscuits, which he left on the table before silently moving away.

John was just starting to read when he glanced up to see the man retreating, having left more hot water and biscuits. He didn't want this man thinking this was the only reason he came, but he could take money up to the counter when he was done. He kept reading, nibbling on the biscuits until he was finished with the chapter. He started packing up, glancing at the counter. "What's your name?" he asked. 

"I suppose I should let you know the truth . . . I'm your long lost brother, John," Sherlock said. "Mother said you might not remember me." He lit a cigarette to try to hide his smile.

John tried to remember when he told this man his name, but then with all of his homework spread everywhere he had probably seen it. "Oh, how unfortunate," John said, sounding disappointed. He took out four more pounds and set them on the counter. 

"Four pounds is hardly going to make up for a lost childhood," Sherlock said, taking the money anyway. "Odd that we don't look anything alike though." He looked over at the man again. "Unless Mum was lying . . ."

John backed up towards the door -- he wanted to be able to leave quickly when he said his next line, knowing it could be very embarrassing if he took it the wrong way. Or maybe it would be even more so if he didn't. "I was saying it was unfortunate because . . ." He pushed the door open. ". . . if that's the case you won't get to test out the talking bed." He bit his lip and hurried out, shouting a good night before the door closed completely. 

Sherlock watched him leave. He finished his cigarette and moved over to clean off his table.

John went back to his room and looked around his little room as if he was seeing it for the first time. He was acting so silly! He sat at his desk and got his notebook out to properly go over his notes again, just to make sure. He didn't know how focused he really was in that cafe. And he still didn't have the man's name! He made a mental note to get it the next time he went to the shop.

Sherlock didn't have any other customers for the rest of the night. He hoped the man would be back soon.


	3. Cake

John had his exam early the next week, doing really well, particularly on verb conjugation. He focused on homework for his other classes, staying out of the cafe for those because they were very important -- he finally admitted to himself that going to the cafe would not lead to any proper studying. He would save it for the days he worked on Greek, since the boy seemed to know some. It was nearing the end of the week when he finally had a good time to go, a little earlier than usual. He stopped to get a small cake before he went, his stomach flipping nervously when he remembered the lame joke he left on the last time he was there. Maybe the man had forgotten it. 

Sherlock looked up when the bell on the door rang. "How's your bed?" he asked, grabbing a mug.

John flushed lightly as he walked up to the counter. "What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said. "Coffee or tea?"

"Tea," John said. He looked around the cafe, glad it was empty again. "I did well on my exam so I brought a small cake. To celebrate, I guess."

"No thank you," Sherlock said. "Congratulations on your exam." He poured a cup of tea. "What's your name then?"

"Oh," John tugged the cake closer and fished out some money. "John. John Watson," he said. 

"John Watson, put your money away. I'm treating tonight," Sherlock said, smiling a little since he'd hardly charged the guy for anything so far.

"You do that every night! You'll be in trouble," he said. 

"I don't care about trouble," Sherlock said. "I love trouble actually."

"Well, okay. But only this time because you won't have any cake with me," he said. 

"I don't like cake," Sherlock said. "You like cake -- you eat it. I'll watch."

John shook his head. "I'll never be able to go to bed if I have that much sugar. What do you like?"

"Cigarettes," Sherlock said. "Eat one piece, though, yeah?"

"It's okay. Later," he said. He went over to his usual table, smiling when Sherlock joined him. "I am not going to buy you cigarettes."

Sherlock poured himself a cup of tea and carried both cups over to the table. "So," he said. "You're still into that doctor thing?"

"Yes," John smiled. "I haven't changed my mind. Are you in school?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I've obviously already reached my peak." He waved his hand around the place sarcastically.

John raised his brows and waited for a proper answer. 

"I decided to retire early from higher education," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea.

"Oh," John said, unsure if he meant he had dropped out or that he graduated early. "You're very mysterious, aren't you?"

"Not particularly," Sherlock said. "I dropped out."

"You are mysterious," John nodded. "Everything you tell me about yourself leaves me with even more questions," he smiled. 

"Ask them then," Sherlock said.

"Why did you drop out?" John asked. 

"It was boring me and didn't seem to be helping me decide what to do with my life," Sherlock said, a little surprised he was being quite so honest.

"And what do you want to do with your life?" he asked. 

"I don't know yet," Sherlock said. "Unlike you, I'm not ready to devote my life to helping others."

"Well, what do you like?" he asked. 

"Talking to you, I guess," Sherlock said. "Is there any money in that?"

John flushed lightly. "I'm afraid not," he said. 

"Oh well," Sherlock said. "I suppose I'll stay here then, until I figure something out."

"Well, what did you like before I started coming here?" John asked. 

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Mainly just the smoking, I guess," he said. "I don't really know what I like. I'm more…well versed in what I don't like."

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He couldn't help if Sherlock wouldn't cooperate so he decided to change the subject. "Do you live close to here?"

"I do," Sherlock said. "Are you inviting yourself to my place?"

"No, I am simply trying to get to know you," John said. "Although, if you have a talking bed as well, I would have to come over and see it."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "Though my bed is often quite shy around strangers."

"Oh, well, I'll just have to come around more," he said. He flushed lightly at his own boldness and sipped on the last of his tea. 

"You probably should," Sherlock said standing up and moving to the counter. "We don't do free takeaways with tea," he said, pouring one into a cup anyway. He scribbled across the front of it and held it out to John. "So I'll add this one to your account."

John stood up. "Oh, um . . . all right then." He felt a bit like he was being hurried out of the shop -- maybe he had gone too far with his flirting. He took the cup awkwardly and moved towards the door. "See you." He left the shop, still holding the cake and the cup in his hands. He headed home, mentally berating himself for being so strange. They had been having a nice time before John tried to get all flirty with him. He must have not liked that. 

Once in his room, he put the cup down on the desk and threw the little cake out -- he didn't feel like having it now. Out of curiosity, he turned his cup to look for a message, feeling silly for hoping for one until he saw the letters. Words! He had written something more than one word this time. John took out his dictionary and studied the letters closely, sounding them out. Ελα πισω σιντομα. He looked through his dictionary, saying the words over and over in his head until he found the right ones, jotting each one down on a scrap of paper. _Come back soon_. John smiled and stared at the words on the cup, warmth spreading through his body. Okay. So maybe he hadn't totally messed it up after all.


	4. Company

When Sherlock woke up, he went to find his mother in the sitting room.

"Do you know why Mycroft's making me work at this coffee shop?" he asked, flopping down on the sofa.

"Sit properly," she said, looking up briefly from her book. "To teach you business skills?"

"But no one comes in and there's barely any stock," Sherlock said.

"To teach you responsibility?" she suggested.

"Again, what responsibility? I don't do anything while I'm there."

"Well, to teach you to make tea and coffee," she said. "Go make me some now to show me what you've learned."

He reluctantly dragged himself up and returned with a cup of tea. His mother took a sip and made a face. "Hmm . . . you still need work, I think."

"It's fine and you know it," he said.

"But where's the service with a smile?"

He pulled a smarmy smile and headed up to his room. "Don't go anywhere," she called after him. "You're working this evening!" And then she went back to her book, enjoying both the plotline and the cup of tea.

John had rinsed out the cup and saved it. He knew that was silly and eventually he figured he would throw it out, but for now he kept it because as the days passed and he kept busy with homework and laundry and studying, he wanted to remember that Sherlock did want to see him again and it wasn't all in his head. The night he was planning on going back, he made himself finish all of his homework first. There was definitely no chance of anything getting done there now -- he was obviously only going to see Sherlock. But when he left he did bring his new flashcards, just in case Sherlock was busy and John needed to fill in the time. He walked in and looked up at the bells like he always did before going to the counter. But it wasn't Sherlock. He checked the time.

"Can I help you?"

John looked up at the menu and saw that all of the names were normal. He looked around to make sure he was in the right place. "Where's Sherlock?"

The woman shrugged. "He comes in at five."

John checked the time again and saw that he still had a half hour. "Oh. Um, just a tea please."

She took his money and went to get the hot water, putting it all on a small tray. John went to his usual table and took out his flashcards. Why did he think Sherlock was here all the time? Of course, there would be shifts. He studied his cards and waited, hoping it wouldn't be strange that John was here before him.

Sherlock made his way into town, but when he got there, the shop was already opened and John was there. What was going on? He went to the backroom and saw Anthea. "What are you doing here?"

"Working, obviously," she said sarcastically. "Who is that boy out there?"

"No idea," Sherlock lied. "Presumably a customer. I mean we are running a coffee shop -- we do want customers, right?" he asked, looking closely at her face.

"You're supposed to be working, not hanging out with friends," she said, gathering her stuff together. "Your brother will not like this."

"Then save him the trouble by not mentioning it to him," he said still watching for any reaction.

"And stop smoking inside the premises -- it's illegal," she added and then she was out the back door.

Sherlock stood for a few moments, annoyed at everything. He lit a cigarette and moved back out to the front. He looked over at the menu board and lifted the piece of chalk.

 _SPECIALS_  
_Coffee (milk or sugar) £1.50_  
_Tea (sugar unavailable) £1_  
_The Mycroft (cake made of sugar, butter, stone, and glass chips) £100_

There, Sherlock thought. If his brother was going to treat him like a child, he might as well act like one. He poured a pot of tea and put it with two mugs on a tray. He carried it over to John's table and said, "Here -- don't drink that one. Drink this one." He sat down with him.

John looked up at Sherlock. "I didn't see you come in. I started this one already," he admitted, but he pushed it away. "It's not as good as yours."

"Well . . . that's why I'm in charge of this place," Sherlock said. He took a few breaths and calmed down a little. He didn't quite know why he enjoyed talking to John, but in truth he did. "More flashcards, eh?" he asked, a bit stupidly.

"Yeah, still studying. I stupidly didn't realise that you wouldn't be here all day," he admitted.

"Well, my bed and I had to have a little conversation so I had to go home for a bit," Sherlock said.

"I see," John said. "You don't want the bed feeling lonely."

"I was trying to be considerate, but I hope I didn't make you feel jealous," Sherlock said.

"Not at all. I know how talking beds can be," he smiled.

Sherlock took a sip. He thought about Anthea and his brother and then about John. "Why did you come in here that first day?" he asked.

"It's close to campus and I really needed coffee," he said.

"Shame," Sherlock said. "I thought you might say something like you saw me through the window and just had to meet me."

John smiled. "Maybe that's the reason I keep coming back," he said.

"You're sure it's not just my affordable prices?"

"I always leave a bit of money -- that's not why I'm coming in," John said, feeling the slight awkwardness he knew he would when this came up.

"I'm considering that money down payment on your tab," Sherlock said. "Don't worry -- I'm keeping track." He finished his tea. "Well, I can let you study now if you'd like."

"Well, I did quite a bit earlier today actually --I don't mind taking a break," John said.

"All right," Sherlock said. He stretched his arms a little. "So I imagine your family's quite proud of you . . ."

"I suppose so," he said, "It's just my mum and sister, but I hardly talk to my sister."

"Yes, siblings can be difficult," Sherlock said. "Any particular reason?"

"She gets in trouble a lot," John said, not really elaborating on her drinking problem.

"I get in trouble a lot," Sherlock said. "Do you think that will be a problem?"

"What kind of trouble?" John asked.

"Nothing too bad, I suppose," Sherlock said. "I just don't do very well when I'm bored."

"Oh. Well, it just depends on the trouble, you know?"

"Indeed it does," Sherlock said. "The next time I fancy a little trouble, I'll run it by you first and let you tell me what you think."

"I'm not your mum," John smiled softly. "Why do you care if I approve or not?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "You seem sensible."

John smiled properly. "Yeah, I guess I am." He sipped at the mug of tea that Sherlock brought over. "What do you do when you're not here?"

"Very little -- which is why I get bored and why trouble occasionally comes to visit," Sherlock said. "Do you do anything when you're not studying?"

"I read sometimes. I play rugby. I watch crap telly," he smiled. "Nothing exciting."

"Trouble can be exciting," Sherlock said, fiddling with his mug.

"Depends what kind," John said again, watching Sherlock's fingers on his mug.

"You're so fussy," Sherlock smiled.

John met his gaze and merely shrugged. He was smiling, too.

"Well," Sherlock said, looking away for a second. "I'll get you that takeaway tea now." He stood up and moved to the counter.

"How come you're always kicking me out?" John asked, smiling to show that he was teasing. He did pull his wallet out though, leaving money on the counter for both of the teas.

"I'm easier to digest in small bites," Sherlock said, sliding the money into his pocket. "I don't want to ruin the mystery, do I?"

John smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll see you soon, then." He took the new tea and left.

When he was around the corner and out of sight, he immediately looked for a message, grinning when he saw one. He hurried to get to his dorm, he couldn't wait to see what this one said. When he got to his room he examined the letters, sounding the words out again as he was already looking through his dictionary. Πρεπει να βρουμε μπελα μαζι. It took a little bit longer this time, but slowly he jotted down the words. _We have to find trouble together._ John grinned stupidly and covered his face for a moment. He wished he had Sherlock's number so he could reply back, but he would just have to wait until he could go to the cafe again. He made a mental note to ask for it next time.

Sherlock went in the backroom and got his book. He poured himself a cup of tea, lit a cigarette, and leaned on the counter and began reading.


	5. Coffee And Tea

It was four days before John found a chance to go to the cafe again. He had an exam in three of his classes, including Greek. He was doing well, so he skipped studying for a day. He was reluctant to go back early in the day, in case that woman was there again instead of Sherlock. He ended up looking over notes to pass the time. 

As he made his way to the cafe, he couldn't help but get excited about the possibility of another message from Sherlock. They made him happier than he would have thought. When he got to the shop he looked in the window first to make sure Sherlock was behind the counter before heading inside. "Hello," he said.

"Hello John Watson," Sherlock said. "I've been bored waiting for you." He got a mug and said, "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee today," he said, looking around. The shop was empty again. 

Sherlock filled a cup for him and pushed the milk toward him. "Sit at the counter tonight," he said, nodding at the seat. "Will you be studying?"

John pulled the chair closer and sat down. "No. I'm taking a night off," he smiled. 

"Do you mind if I ask you something personal?" Sherlock asked, pouring himself a cup of tea.

John shook his head. "Go ahead."

"Well, you're obviously smart, friendly and incredibly handsome," Sherlock said. "Don't you have . . . normal friends to hang out with?"

"Yeah, I see them throughout the day," he said.

"And do they know you loiter about with troublemakers in a lonely coffee shop at night?"

"No, only because I haven't found a need to mention it," John said. 

Sherlock looked over at him. He really was incredibly handsome. "All right then," he said. "What shall we talk about then?"

"Where did you learn Greek?" John asked. 

"When I was a child, I was kidnapped by a Greek man and raised on an island until I was rescued at age ten," Sherlock said. "Well, that and the fact that I'm quite keen on languages and know a little of many of them." He smiled over at John and winked.

John laughed. "It's always something!"

"What can I say? I was rescued by a con man who taught me the art of lying," Sherlock said. "When I finally returned to my proper parents, I was a changed man."

John laughed again. "Always so mysterious! Won't I ever learn anything about you?" he teased. 

"Maybe that's why I've got to tell stories . . . because I'm an incredibly boring person in real life," Sherlock offered. "So I'm just trying to spice it up to keep you coming back in." He topped up John's coffee and refilled his own cup.

"I would rather you were yourself," he said. He smiled and raised the cup as a thank you. 

"This is myself, I guess," Sherlock said. "I'm not always very good at . . . interactions, but this is probably as me as I can get."

John studied him for a moment before taking a sip of coffee. "I like you," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. It felt good even though he wasn't quite sure why.

John waited for a second before looking down, just a bit disappointed but mostly embarrassed. He wondered why Sherlock hadn't said it back, but that seemed childish. He looked up again and smiled softly. "So . . . how long have you worked here?"

"Only a few weeks," Sherlock said. He glanced around. "I'm not quite sure what's going on with this place, if I'm honest -- which I now know is something you'd like me to be. Clearly we don't get much business, except you, but I suppose it could be worse. We could get a lot of customers and then I'd actually have to deal with people."

John grinned. "People are the worst," he said. 

"Present company excluded, of course," Sherlock said. "And don't pretend you agree -- you're the one who wants to be 'helping' people all the time."

John laughed. "You're right. I was trying to sound cool," he said. 

"Don't try to sound cool -- you said you wanted me to be myself, you should be too," Sherlock said. "Even if your self is obnoxiously kind." He smiled and gave him a little wink.

John flushed lightly and smiled into his next sip of coffee. "You're right."

"Have you ever seen a dead body?" Sherlock asked.

John sobered a bit, tilting his head at Sherlock. "Um, no. Have you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I thought you might have dissected one or something. I mean, I know your long term goal will probably be to keep a person alive and all but I was just wondering . . ."

"We haven't worked on cadavers yet," John explained. "Where did you see one?"

"A morgue obviously," Sherlock said. "Did you think I killed someone?"

"No!" John said quickly, but his voice gave him away a bit. "Why were you in a morgue?"

"When I was at uni, I had a friend who was studying medicine and she did an internship in a morgue," Sherlock said. "I guess I'm intrigued by what's inside the body, especially the brain, so she let me come in and take a look."

"Oh," John said. "That was nice of her. To be honest I can't wait to get to that bit. I want to see it all first hand."

"If you'd like, I can change my will and leave my body to you to study," Sherlock said. "You can take out my guts and everything, if you'd like. It'll be totally up to you."

John laughed again. "No! Don't do that. You're healthy . . . there won't be anything cool to see." Then he flushed. "Not that having an illness is cool but, you know, medically speaking or scientifically speaking . . . I don't know I'm saying."

"Are you saying you'd only be interested in my body if I were diseased?" Sherlock asked.

"No!" John covered his face, completely mortified. "No. That all came out wrong."

"So you _are_ interested in my body?"

John flushed even darker. He kept telling himself to lower his hands -- he probably looked so ridiculous -- and when he did, he grabbed his coffee and occupied his mouth with that instead of answering. Sherlock was very attractive. He was tall and handsome, bright eyes made even more so by his dark hair falling a bit all over the place. He had nice hands, and full lips, and he was funny and smart . . . wait, how much time had passed since Sherlock spoke? John knew he should say something. "I think this is the longest I've stayed without you trying to kick me out," he said, trying to make a joke and lighten the air of awkwardness he had created. 

Sherlock watched John's reactions -- he clearly felt awkward but only because what Sherlock had said was true. Interesting. "You're right," Sherlock said. "Get out."

John looked up at him, his eyes a bit wide. "I didn't -- I don't want to go yet," he said. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "Stay." He poured John another cup of coffee. "Do you . . . um, ever eat or do you just drink liquids?"

"I eat," he smiled. "More than I should, probably."

"We don't serve food," Sherlock said.

"I didn't ask for any! You brought it up," John laughed. "And besides, you gave me biscuits once, so you have those for sure."

"I brought those in myself," Sherlock said. "They didn't make you ill, did they? I was testing a new recipe."

"No," John said. He looked up at the menu. "I can't tell if you're lying. Why do you change the names of everything?"

"Because it's fucking boring here, isn't it?" Sherlock said, pulling out a cigarette. "I told you I get in trouble when I'm bored."

"That's not trouble," John said, pointing to the menu board. "That is," he said, pointing to the cigarette.

"It'll just make my lungs more disgusting when you're dissecting me," Sherlock said, lighting it.

John flushed lightly. "I don't want you to have disgusting lungs," he said. He reached up and took the cigarette, dropping it into his cup of coffee before smiling at Sherlock. 

"Outrageous," Sherlock said, but he smiled a little. "So will you at least leave me your brain when you die? I'd like to have a look at what makes someone so kind also so cruel."

"Sure. I'll leave you my brain," John said. "Only if you stop smoking," he grinned. 

"Hmm," Sherlock said. "I'll need to get to know your brain a little better before I commit."

"Hopefully not by dissecting it," he laughed. 

"No, though I will probably need to take a closer look at some point," Sherlock said.

"Well, I'm all yours," John said. "I mean . . . you know. To examine. My brain," he added. He took another sip of coffee and winced when he remembered the cigarette was in there.

Sherlock laughed. "Too smart for your own good, John Watson!" he said.

John wiped his tongue with his sleeve, shoving Sherlock playfully. "Somehow you planned that."

"I am quite clever," Sherlock said. "You look even more handsome when you're disgusted actually."

John flushed lightly and looked at Sherlock's eyes. These were good signs. He didn't feel as embarrassed about his comments as before. "Well, you are all the time so I have a lot of catching up to do."

"I'm perpetually disgusted . . . with the world, I mean," Sherlock said. He glanced up at the clock. "It's getting late -- are you sure you should be drinking coffee at this hour?"

"No. That's why I've stopped," he said. "But I'll be up for a while now anyway. You just had to keep topping it off," he teased. 

"I was just trying to offer good service," Sherlock smiled. "Is that such a crime?"

"So now you decide to be nice and mess up my sleep," he laughed. 

"To be honest, it was your bed's idea -- it's been missing your voice," Sherlock explained. "It talked to mine and mine asked me to step in."

"Oh, I see," John said. "Well, maybe my bed should have talked to me like an adult," he said. 

"I don't want to come between the two of you," Sherlock said. "But if you need me to intervene, just let me know."

"Are you asking to join me in bed?" he asked, smiling lightly. 

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "That would be much too forward -- I've never even met your bed."

John laughed softly. "I'm out of here," he said, standing up and putting the chair back. 

"Tell your bed I said hello," Sherlock said, reaching for a take away cup before John left. He scribbled something on it and handed it to him.

John didn't point out that the cup was empty. He took it from Sherlock and smiled. "I'll see you soon," he said. He backed out of the shop and tried to keep his composure until he was out of sight. Another message! He was running back to his room now. 

Sherlock watched him go. Why was he enjoying this guy's company so much? It was incredibly unusual -- but then again his working in an empty coffee shop for his brother for some mysterious reason was also quite unusual. He smiled as he thought about John translating the message and hoped his reaction was good.

John looked at the words closely and felt himself getting warmer. He knew both of those words, they were elementary words when you started a new language. Και εσυ μου αρεσειs. And thanks to John's recent success on his exam about conjugating verbs, he was able to get the context immediately. _I like you too._


	6. Closed

The next morning Sherlock was up early. He knew that John didn't come every day, but he was certain (or at least hoping) that John would come back tonight, and he was finally going to ask to see him outside the coffee shop. Obviously a few weeks ago, he'd realised he'd been flirting with him and he eventually realised why: he liked John Watson. Liking another person was indeed unusual, but it was true and at the very least, Sherlock wanted to discover why this boy seemed so different.

He tidied up his room and cleaned himself up before going down for breakfast. His parents were reading the paper at the table.

"Tea?" he asked.

His mother looked up. "I wasn't expecting you up so early," she said. "We've just had coffee."

Sherlock moved to put the kettle on when the phone rang. He answered it.

"You're no longer needed," his brother said after Sherlock said hello.

"What? What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"The project's over," Mycroft explained. "The shop is no more. I'd like to thank you for your service but you really didn't do anything except stand around, so that's hardly worth of gratitude. Still you served your purpose."

"I don't understand," Sherlock stammered. "Why was I there? What do I do now?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to sort that yourself," Mycroft said and then he was gone.

Sherlock made his tea and took it to the table. "My job's over, I guess," he mumbled.

"That's good," his mother said from behind her newspaper.

"Did you get sacked?" his father asked from behind his.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I don't think it was a real shop . . ."

"Well, you know your brother -- he's always . . . up to something," his mother said. "That's good, though, right? You didn't really like it, did you?"

"I guess not," Sherlock answered.

"You'll need to go out and find a real job now, Sherlock," his father said. "Uni or job -- no son of mine is sitting around doing nothing when he should be out working."

"Good thing you got up early, eh?" his mother said, lowering the paper and looking over at him. She tried to smile. "You look quite smart. Why don't you go sort something out straight away?"

Sherlock finished his tea. "I guess I will," he said. "I'll go look at my options." He headed back up to his room and lay down to figure out what to do next with his life.

John woke up that morning feeling excited and happy. He looked over at the cups on his desk and smiled widely. He was going to ask for Sherlock's phone number today so they could hang out when he wasn't working. Like a real date. He worked on homework as much as he could in his classes and took diligent notes so that his studying would be easier later. He was going to skip studying and go straight to the cafe after classes today. As soon as his last class let out, he turned for the shop, taking his bag with him so he wouldn't waste time. Halfway there he paused, remembering that Sherlock didn't work all day. He didn't want to see that lady. Sighing, he turned around and went back to his room. He forced himself to sit down and study, but between glances at the cups and his thoughts drifting to what he would say to Sherlock, it was a poor session.

When Sherlock went upstairs, it wasn't to look for a new job. It was to find John. It took him quite some time to look through all the John Watson's who exist in the world -- far more than Sherlock had really anticipated. Then he found some references to John's sporting activities, but he was only just a name on a list. This was the same for John's academic studies. Sherlock was going to need to hack into the university system.

Finally, when it was close to the time of his usual visits, John changed his clothes and left, feeling nervous and anxious and excited. His brows furrowed as he approached. Were the lights out? Maybe that was another one of Sherlock's tricks. John smiled softly as he hurried closer, but it faded quickly. It wasn't just the lights out. There was a chain on the door and a big sigh that said CLOSED in red letters. John tried to look into the window but it was too dark. He knocked.

"Sherlock?" he called, but there was no one inside. He didn't understand. His stomach was twisting unpleasantly now. He didn't know what happened. How was he supposed to find Sherlock now? No phone number, no address, not even a place he liked hanging out. He cursed himself for waiting so long, knocking on the window one more time before he knew he had to give up and go home. He walked back to his room slowly, glad he had the cups still to prove that it was real, that it had really happened. How was John going to find him now?

Sherlock went downstairs around dinner time and had a cup of tea and some soup with his parents. Then he told them he was heading out to meet someone.

"About a job?" his mother asked. "Why don't you wait until tomorrow morning?"

"Yes . . . no," Sherlock said. "It needs to be this evening." He grabbed his coat and headed out before she asked any more questions.

Once out on the street, Sherlock made his way over to the coffee shop. It was closed and dark. He went around the back and jimmied open the lock. He walked inside, looking around -- it was pretty much empty. He pulled out his phone.

_Ελα να με βρειs στο καφενείο. SH_

He lit a cigarette and waited.

John startled a bit when his phone went off. He was lost in his head thinking about ways he could track Sherlock -- he had currently been considering asking the police for help. He pulled his phone close and stared. It couldn't be. But who else could it be sending him texts in Greek? He didn't even pause to think about how Sherlock got his number. He grabbed up his Greek dictionary. He sounded the words out and looked in the book, having to force himself to slow down and focus when he started making mistakes. Finally he had it. _Come find me at the coffee shop._

John scrambled up for his coat, hurrying to put it on and running out of his room. He stopped and took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm. Sherlock was waiting for him at the shop. He wasn't going anywhere. There was no need to show up a complete mess. He walked very quickly through campus and towards the coffee shop. It was still dark, and the chain was still on the door. Biting his lip, he looped around to the back of the building. "Sherlock?" he called out.

"I'm here, John," Sherlock said, stepping out through the back door. "Come in."

John came to the back door and stepped into the dark space. "I didn't think I was going to see you again," he said, and he was glad for the dark hiding his face as he said that. His voice sounded strange, and he hoped Sherlock hadn't caught it.

"This is unusual, John Watson, and may possibly even lead to a bit of trouble, but I didn't want to stop seeing you," Sherlock said, glancing around the alley and shutting the door behind them. "I apologise for the situation."

"What happened?" John asked. He had never seen any customers himself, but surely they were doing some business in the morning? Maybe it hadn't been enough.

Sherlock lit another cigarette and stood back against the wall. "I'm afraid I don't know. My brother . . ." he started and then took a long inhale of smoke. "My brother is well-connected. I thought he'd set up this job to teach me some lesson but now I don't know. I don't like not knowing . . . but I was more worried about not being able to see you."

John's brow furrowed. "The shop was fake?" he asked. He didn't know what to think about all of that. It was a lot to go through to teach someone a lesson. A lesson on what? Responsibility? No one came in! What could he have learned? "Did people know to stay away from it? Was I the only one that didn't get the memo?" He wanted to tell Sherlock that he was worried about never seeing him again either and to ask him how he found John's number, but the questions kept getting lost as he tried to understand what had happened.

Sherlock closed his eyes in a slow blink, trying to think clearly, but then he opened them and said, "I honestly don't know. It won't be anything . . . illegal, you don't need to worry about that. Whatever it was, I was serving a purpose for Mycroft -- my brother -- and now I'm no longer needed. If you just came in for a drink, if you knew nothing about anything odd, then let's not worry. Let's . . . do something else instead."

John hadn't thought anything illegal was going on until Sherlock used that word, but he didn't want to dwell on that anymore. "When I came up and saw everything closed, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know how I was going to find you again," he said. "How did you find my number?"

"I -- I'm good at that sort of thing," Sherlock said. "I remember and . . . I know some computer tricks." He stepped to the door, opening it and throwing his cigarette out. He looked over at John. "I'm glad to see you . . . I'd like to keep seeing you, I guess, if that's all right with you."

"Oh," John said, watching Sherlock toss his cigarette. He hoped Sherlock's wouldn't light another. "I would like that -- I was actually going to ask you out," he admitted. "On a date. If you want."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I do want. To go out. On a date, I mean." He took a step closer to John. "Are you thirsty? We could go get something to drink." He stood in front of John now and lifted his hands to hold John's wrists.

John nodded, wishing there was a little bit of light so he could see Sherlock. His heart was hammering away with their proximity. "I would like that. I'm free right now," he said.

"I am as well, now that I'm unemployed and all," Sherlock said. He leaned in a little. "How's your brain anyway? Perhaps I should take a quick look before we go."

John nodded even though it was dark. "I think that's a good idea," he said. He tilted his face up a bit.

Sherlock moved his head to the side of John's, putting his left eye to John's right ear. "Hmm," he whispered. "It looks quite interesting in there." He tipped his head slightly and moved his mouth softly over John's earlobe before sucking lightly on the bottom of it. He gripped John's wrists more tightly and then stepped back to stand in front of him again.

John shivered and huffed out a hard breath. His heart was really pounding away now, his body too warm. "Sherlock . . ." he murmured, and before he could change his mind, he shook one hand free, touched Sherlock's face and lips, and then leaned up to kiss him softly.

Sherlock let John kiss him and then he kissed him back. His mouth was soft and tasted slightly of coffee. Sherlock's hands went to John's head, pressing the back of it to deepen the kiss.

John licked out into Sherlock's mouth. His hands curled on Sherlock's shirt and held him close.

Sherlock moved in a little closer, pressing himself against John who was pressed against the wall. Then he pulled back, from the kiss and his body, and looked at him. "Where to now?" he asked, smiling.

John licked his lips lightly, still craving Sherlock's closeness. Craving more. "Do you want to come to my room?" he asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, stepping away fully now and moving towards the door. "Let's go."


	7. John's Room

Once outside John led the way towards his place, glancing at Sherlock shyly but excitedly, trying to keep from grinning.

Sherlock followed along, letting John lead. Once they got there, Sherlock kept his head down slightly, to avoid seeing the students. He stood patiently as John unlocked the door.

John paused with the door half open. "I should admit . . ." He hesitated dramatically. ". . . my bed doesn't talk."

"That's outrageous," Sherlock said. "Bringing me here on false pretenses . . ." He leaned against the door, pulling John towards him before pressing him back against the door. His hands roamed up and down the back of John's body as the kiss deepened and became more urgent. He did his best to turn off his mind from all the mystery of the last few weeks and just let go to the pleasure.

John moved to take Sherlock's coat off, and then his own. He paused the kiss to lead him further inside the room, taking him over to the bed. Sherlock glanced around the room as he moved through it. John started taking his own clothes off slowly, smiling at him. As Sherlock sat down he looked up at John, watching him. When he had his shirt off, Sherlock reached up to undo the button on John's jeans, helping him to pull them down.

John flushed lightly as he stood there in his pants, already half hard. He moved closer, a bit between Sherlock's legs, and started unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock let John take off his shirt and then he lay back on the bed, undoing his own button and pushing his trousers off. He grabbed at one of John's hands to pull him down onto the bed on top of him. He let his arms wrap around John as he deepened the kiss. John's weight felt heavier than Sherlock anticipated, but running his hands up and down his back meant he could feel the strong muscles. He lifted his hips lightly from the bed. John moaned softly, Sherlock's fingers leaving trails of heat along his body as they moved over his skin. It was incredible. 

"Do you think your bed would mind if we got into it?" Sherlock asked, before moving his mouth to suck roughly on John's neck.

John's head fell back to give Sherlock room as he shook it in response to his question. He started tugging to pull the covers back. Sherlock scrambled to get underneath the sheets. "Take the rest of your clothes off," he said, pulling off his own pants. He leaned over John, touching his arm first, before letting his hand slip down John's chest and side to rest on his hip. He leaned down and kissed him hard as he wrapped his fingers around John's hard cock and started a slow, firm stroke.

John slipped his pants off and before he knew it Sherlock was over him and his hand was moving lower and . . . yes, he sighed, unsure if the word actually came out or was just in his head. He kissed Sherlock hungrily, his own hand moving down Sherlock's stomach to touch him as well. 

"God," Sherlock exhaled at John's touch. He started to move his hips in response, keeping his hand firm and steady. He lowered his mouth to John's neck again and then his chest, sucking and nipping lightly on each nipple.

John shivered and brought his free hand to Sherlock's hair, tangling in the soft curls. His hips bucked in response, moving more into Sherlock's hand. His own hand moved to keep pace, but as Sherlock moved lower he start losing his grip a bit. "I'm too short," he chuckled breathlessly. "That feels good," he added softly.

"Touch my hair," Sherlock mumbled against John's skin. "It does feel good," he added.

John laced his fingers deeper into his curls, tugging on then softly as they moved together. 

"Do you have the things I need for what I'm going to do next?" Sherlock asked, moving lower down John's body.

John nodded, lifting his hand to point at the desk at the end of the bed. "They're in the bottom drawer of the desk . . . I can get them."

Sherlock slid to the side of John, stroking himself lightly as he waited. He quickly glanced around the room again, but could barely see anything in the dark. John paused to watch Sherlock for a moment before crawling into bed and moving close to him. 

Sherlock moved over top of John again, this time looking down at his face. "I like you, John Watson," he said softly. "I'm not quite sure why because we don't really know each other, but I hope this isn't the last night we spend together." He leaned down and gave him a kiss.

"I like you too, Sherlock. I don't want it to be the last night either," John said. 

"Then let's call it the first," Sherlock said, kissing him as he slid down John's body again to begin stroking him.

"First of many . . ." John murmured, kissing Sherlock harder as his hand moved along his back and hips and arse. 

Sherlock went back to covering John's neck and chest with kisses. Then he moved down a little further, placing himself between John's separated legs. He reached for the lube and covered the area, pulling lightly on John's balls, before slowly pushing in a fingertip. As he did, he leaned over and put kisses on John's stomach. John shivered and bit his lip softly, a small moan escaping as he laced his fingers in Sherlock's curls again. 

Sherlock watched John's reaction, starting a slow movement with his finger as he reached up to kiss him. "Feel good?" he whispered.

John nodded, touching Sherlock's face lightly. "Yeah, it feels so good," he moaned softly.

"Good," Sherlock said, pushing a second finger inside. "You're really sexy."

"This is so good with you . . ." John said, kissing him again. 

Sherlock stretched his fingers apart as he moved down to lick a stripe up John's cock. "I can't wait to be inside you," he moaned softly. He slid his fingers from John's body and sat back a little. He stroked himself and then rolled on a condom, before covering everything with more lube. He leaned over John's body, resting on one hand and using the other to line up. He leaned down to kiss John, but as he pushed inside, his head dropped as he gasped at the pleasure.

John tucked his face against Sherlock's, moaning softly as he stretched to take Sherlock. "Yes, Sherlock . . ." he breathed. 

"God," Sherlock moaned in response. He began a soft rocking -- not really thrusting but pushing deeper and deeper inside. He kissed John's ear, sucking on the lobe. "God, you feel good . . ."

John shuddered out a breath, dipping his head to kiss and suck on Sherlock's neck. He couldn't get enough. He moaned, moving his own hips a bit, his body craving more.

"John . . ." Sherlock said. He reached down between their bodies to stroke John. "I'm close already . . ."

John nodded, moaning softly against Sherlock's neck. "Just a bit more . . . you feel so good . . . just a little more . . . " 

John's voice was pushing Sherlock close to the edge. He tried to last longer, concentrating on stroking John. He could sense the changes in John's body, which suddenly made it too much, and he came hard into him, calling his name loudly.

John gasped softly, watching Sherlock's face as he let go. He reached down and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's, stroking faster. He closed his eyes and let go, coming hard between them with a soft whine of pleasure. 

"Fucking hell," Sherlock panted as he rolled to John's side. His breath was ragged, but he smiled widely at John. "That was fantastic."

John smiled back at him, nodding and he ran his hands over his face. He already wanted to do it again. "You're so sexy," he said, turning on his side and tugging the covers up a bit. 

"Is that you talking or the bed?" Sherlock said, smiling at him.

"All me," John laughed softly. "Do you want to sleep here?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "If you really don't mind." He moved a little to get comfortable. "Your bed's quite nice, even though I'm not sure I believe you that it talks like mine does."

"You have to be patient. Maybe you'll have to spend more time here," he smiled. 

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "And maybe you'll meet mine one day." He lay back and closed his eyes. He listened to all the new sounds -- he could hear people talking while noticing every car door opening and closing outside the building. After a few minutes, he whispered, "I don't really do this all the time. I mean, it shouldn't matter if I did, but . . . I don't."

John turned and lay his arm over Sherlock. "Me neither," he said softly. 

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Good night." He took a deep breath and began to doze.

John closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock breathing as he fell asleep. 

Sherlock shifted and woke a few times during the night, forgetting and then remembering where he was. It was unusual, yes, but quite nice. In the morning, he rolled towards John and pushed on his arm to wake him. "I slept over," Sherlock said. "This is what I look like in the morning."

John grumbled softly before remembering who was waking him up. He opened his eyes and looked over Sherlock's face. "Hmm. I think I've changed my mind," he teased. He reached out and shifted Sherlock's curls into place. 

"Fine, then," Sherlock said, rolling over. "You're no oil painting this early either, you know." He yawned a little.

John chuckled lightly and kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "Don't turn away, I like your sleepy face."

Sherlock rolled back over. "I hope we like each other as much in the day time," he said. "I very much liked what happened last night."

"I liked it too. And I still like you," John smiled. 

"Good," Sherlock said and smiled back. "I'm going to need tea, though, and since I am now unemployed, I think the tea's probably your responsibility."

John smiled. "You just want to see me walk around naked," he said, getting out of bed with nothing on. 

"God, John," Sherlock said, covering his eyes. "Are you a pervert or something?" he asked as he peeked between his fingers.

"You liked it last night. What's wrong?" he asked. He started the kettle and stood by it to wait. 

"It's . . . light out. It's day time. It's . . . quite a nice view actually," Sherlock said, sitting up in the bed and peering over.

John smiled and let him look, getting the mugs ready to pour the water. 

"I should probably go after tea," Sherlock said, stretching and letting out a small yawn. "I told my parents I was going out last night for a job interview and never came back. If they were paying attention, they might be worried."

"Oh, yeah, right," John said. He brought the mug over to Sherlock and climbed into bed again. "I don't think you're going to like properly working," he smiled. 

"That's an outrageous comment," Sherlock said. "I just need to get a job where my skills are actually useful."

"What skills are those?" he asked. 

"I'm clever," Sherlock said. "And wily. And thin with dark hair." He took a sip of tea.

John raised his brows. "Looks don't count as skills, Sherlock," he laughed. "But we can work with clever. What else?"

"Well, I'm good at smoking and hacking computers and I know some different languages," Sherlock said. "I can pick locks as well."

"Well, now you're leaning more towards criminal things and we don't want that."

"I can . . . juggle," Sherlock suggested.

John laughed. "Well, this is entirely unhelpful," he said. "What did you study when you were in school?"

"Chemistry," Sherlock said. "Are you always so chatty in the morning?" he asked, sticking his face into his mug and swallowing a big gulp of tea.

"Did you like chemistry?" John asked. He took a sip of his own tea. "I'm chatty because, if we're being honest, I don't know anything about you. Except that you have a determined older brother and you know some Greek."

"Hablo español," Sherlock said. "Et un peu français aussi." He laughed a little. "I don't know how to tell you who I am or what I know or whatever. You'll just have to learn the hard way -- by being around me."

John laughed. "That's not the hard way. That's the best way," he said. "But I don't think we can wait until then to find you a job."

"Well, I need to get up and function before I can think about that," Sherlock said. He set his mug on the bedside table and looked over at John. "Want to come back to mine with me?" he said.

"Really?" John asked, looking over at Sherlock a bit surprised. 

"Sure, why not? I should be on my own," Sherlock said. He hadn't thought it was a big deal, but now he was worried it was. "I mean, just come over -- not move in or anything."

"I know what you meant. I just thought you had enough of me," John said, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Well, I haven't," Sherlock said, reaching around the floor trying to find his clothes. "I just thought, after last night, we could spend some time getting to know each other, I guess. With our clothes on, I mean."

John smiled. "I would like that," he said. "Let me go take a quick shower and get dressed."

Sherlock slipped his own clothes on while he waited. "So you don't have class today?" he asked when John returned.

John smiled. "It's Saturday," he reminded Sherlock.

"Right," Sherlock said, thinking for a moment. "Um . . . my parents might be home actually. I wasn't thinking really. Is that okay?"

"I -- are you sure you don't mind?" John asked. The thought made him a bit nervous really. "Will they be angry that I came to the shop?"

"No, they've got nothing to do with all that," Sherlock said. "It'll be fine . . . we'll be fine," he added, trying to convince both of them of that.

"Okay," John said, not entirely convinced.


	8. Sherlock's Room

They headed out. Sherlock pulled his collar around his neck. "It's a bit chilly," he said He walked on a little and then said, "Look -- yes, this is a bit unusual. We don't know each other that well, but we have kind of known each other a couple months actually and, if you knew me well, you'd know that I'm not a friendly person in the slightest so the fact that I wanted to see you again and that we . . . well, you know, last night -- it does mean something. So . . . I just wanted to say that." He hadn't really thought the comment through, but all of it was true.

John blinked up at him and tried to understand what Sherlock was saying. He nodded. "I believe you, Sherlock. I'm not so much nervous about us spending time together. Just meeting your family, I suppose. I've never done that officially before."

"Well, it's not like you're going to be asking for my hand in marriage, so let's just try to be normal about it, whatever that is, okay?" Sherlock said, glancing over and making a little smile.

"Should I go put the ring back, then?" he teased, smiling at Sherlock. 

"No," Sherlock laughed "Keep hold of it -- just in case." He reached out and held John's hand as they walked.

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Do you live far?"

"Not really," Sherlock said. "About a fifteen minute walk. Do you want to get a cab instead?"

"No, I don't mind walking," he said. 

Sherlock walked a little further, turning them down a few streets to a quieter area. "You're not afraid of snakes, are you?" he said suddenly.

"Um, not that I know of," he said. "Why? Do you have one?" he asked. 

"If I did, would you be willing to hold it?"

John raised his brows. "Yes. Even if that is a weird euphemism," he said. 

"You are a pervert," Sherlock said. "What about if I tell you it's venomous and has been known to bite? I'm talking about a real snake obviously."

John laughed softly but shook his head. "I'll stay away, I think."

"Excellent choice," Sherlock said and smiled a bit smugly.

"So do you have a snake?" John asked. He was confused now.

"No, John Watson, I do not," Sherlock said, still smiling. "I am trying to get to know you. What I've learned is that you aren't afraid of a little danger, but you are not stupid. I find both of these traits very appealing." 

John laughed softly. "Well, I'm glad that I passed the test."

"It wasn't a test, really, just a conversation," Sherlock said. After a few more moments, Sherlock stopped. "Okay, I can see the house from here -- my parents' car is there so they are home. They're fine. We won't really need to talk to them, but if we do, just . . . be yourself but you probably don't need to volunteer a lot of information. And I'll say I stayed with you last night -- they'll know what that means but we needn't go into a lot of details, yeah?"

John faltered. "I thought you said you were out getting a job and they will blame me and they'll know we . . ." he rambled. But Sherlock was already pulling him along. Okay. This would be okay. 

Sherlock unlocked the front door and led John in. He took his coat off and then helped John with his, putting it over the back of a kitchen chair. He went over to the kettle and turned it on, setting out two mugs. "I only make tea in my personal life," he said, smiling. "No coffee."

"Tea is perfect," he smiled. 

Sherlock turned back but as he did, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Mycroft. "What are you doing here?" he said to his brother.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft asked back.

"I live here. What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked again.

Mycroft glanced at John. "What is he doing here?" he asked, looking back at Sherlock.

"Answer my question first," Sherlock said.

"No, you answer mine," Mycroft responded.

"Both of you shut up," Sherlock's mother said as she came down the steps and into the room. "You are acting like children." She noticed the coat on the chair and then noticed John. "Oh, I'm sorry -- I didn't know we had a guest." She looked at her sons. "Which one of you does he belong to?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but Sherlock said, "He doesn't belong to anyone. He's my friend. John Watson."

Sherlock's mother turned back to John and put out her hand. "Nice to meet you," she said. "I'm sorry they're misbehaving this morning."

"Afternoon," Mycroft clarified. "Those of us who work have already been busy for the five hours. Those of us who don't can spend our Saturday mornings in bed, it appears."

Sherlock mouthed 'fuck off' to Mycroft while his mother's head was turned.

John couldn't help grinning at the behaviour. "It's nice to meet you," he told Sherlock's mum. 

"Is this why we got no business at the shop?" Mycroft asked Sherlock.

"John was the only business we got," Sherlock said. "And besides it wasn't a real shop anyway, was it?"

Mycroft said nothing as Sherlock stared at him, trying to figure it out. Finally Sherlock's mother said, "Stop teasing him, Mycroft." She turned to Sherlock. "It needed to look like a real shop, and it did, thanks to you. Now the project's over and you learned how to be a responsible employee." 

Mycroft humphed at this.

Sherlock's mother continued, "And now that you are a responsible employee, you can get a proper job. Or go back to uni. Your choice."

"Like I have a choice," Sherlock pouted.

"You do," she said.

"Like I had a choice to work at Mycroft's fake shop?"

"Well, had you been appropriately employed or in full time education, I wouldn't have asked, would I?" Mycroft said smugly.

"You didn't ask," Sherlock mumbled.

"Boys," their mother scolded.

"I do have a job," Sherlock said abruptly. "I'm tutoring John. That's why he's here. It's not full time obviously, but it's something." He glanced over at John but then looked away, a bit embarrassed by all this.

John's brow furrowed a bit before he nodded. "Um, yeah. He's helping me."

"Right," Mycroft said suspiciously. "So what, you're tutoring him in anatomy? I'm sure the college offers proper tutoring for med students."

Sherlock looked up quickly. How did his brother know? Anthea. And her big mouth. "I'm helping him with Greek," Sherlock said. “Γαμισου μαλακα."

"Very amusing, brother," Mycroft said. He turned to John. "You're paying him then?"

"Yes," Sherlock spoke before John could. "John's given me more money than you did for all the hours at that stupid pretend coffee shop."

"Mycroft, did you pay Sherlock?" their mother asked.

"He did not," Sherlock answered for him.

"You should have paid him," she said as Sherlock pulled a face at his brother behind her back.

"Fine," Mycroft said. "I will write him a cheque as soon as he gets a proper job."

"See what I mean about choice?" Sherlock said to no one in particular.

"This conversation is embarrassing," his mother said. She turned to John. "I swear, please do not let my sons' immaturity lead you to think their father and I haven't tried our best with them. We have. They're just . . . trouble. I'm glad to meet you, John, whether you're Sherlock's friend or employer." 

John didn't know what to make about all of this. He wondered if Sherlock was embarrassed to admit they were more than 'working' together. He shook his head at their mum again to assure her that he didn't think badly of anyone. 

"Let's go in the conservatory," Sherlock said. "I need a cigarette." He carried the two mugs and nodded for John to follow.

"It was nice meeting everyone," he said before following Sherlock quickly. 

"I'm sorry about that," Sherlock said. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to my telling you lies to maintain the mystery?"

"I'm sure," John said. "How come you said you were tutoring me?" 

"Just to shut him up," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. "I wasn't lying, though, about his not paying me. I hate him." He felt his cheeks warm. He knew he sounded stupid.

"No, I figured that." John sipped his tea. "It just made me feel a bit stupid," he admitted. "The friend part was nice, but . . ."

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "Would have rather if I'd said you were paying for me sex?" he added, trying to smile a bit.

John flushed lightly. "We didn't have to say I was paying you for anything. I thought we'd just say we were friends."

"Do you do what we did last night with all your friends?" Sherlock asked. 

"No, but I knew we weren't going to tell them that." He shrugged. "It's fine."

"It's just . . . I only said anything just to shut him up. I'm sorry I brought you into it," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry"

"It's fine, Sherlock. I just wasn't expecting it," John said. 

"Were you expecting any of this?" Sherlock asked. He reached over and let his hand fall softly on John's leg.

"No," he murmured. He sipped more tea. "Are you embarrassed?" he asked softly. He looked up at Sherlock, his own cheeks flushed. 

"A bit," Sherlock mumbled.

John's face burned. "I should go," he stammered, standing so quickly he almost dumped his mug of tea. He moved for the door, realising he'd have to pass through the house again. "You didn't have to bring me here . . ."

"What? John, wait," Sherlock said in a panic, jumping up to follow him. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

"What's--?" John looked over at him. "I just asked you if you were embarrassed about me and you said you were -- you didn't even hesitate," he said. 

"No, John," Sherlock said. "You asked if I was embarrassed and I am -- embarrassed by my family and the way I act. I say what I mean, John. I said I liked you. I brought you here because I like you. If you want to go, go but think carefully. I've never brought a friend -- anyone actually -- into this house, but I brought you." He sat back down and picked up his mug. 

"Don't -- you know what I meant by my question. We were talking about me," John said.

"No we weren't," Sherlock said. "We were talking about me and my brother and why I'd said it."

"Right. Why you told your brother I'm paying you for tutoring instead of telling him that we're friends."

"I'd already said we were friends -- that's what I said first," Sherlock explained. "I said the thing about the tutoring when he said something about not paying me until I had a job. So I said I had a job. With you. My friend."

"He's the one not paying you, Sherlock. That's what you should have stuck with. You made it seem like the only reason we're hanging out is because I paid you." He moved back into the room and sat down again. 

Sherlock looked sharply over at John. "This conversation is becoming ridiculous," he said. "They both know what's going on, and besides, what does it matter what they think? You know the truth. Don't you?"

John held Sherlock's gaze steadily. "Yes, I do. But it's the principle of it. I wouldn't tell my friends I was only hanging around you because you pay me. It's mean."

"He's not my friend," Sherlock said. He tried to think for a moment. "My brother created a fake coffee shop and made me work here for two months. You just watched him treat me like I'm an idiot which then caused me to behave like an idiot. I told you he had issues. Why does what he thinks about us matter so much to you?"

John considered the question. He didn't really care about Sherlock's brother at all. "I guess just because you said it. Because I thought you assumed that would be easier than admitting we were friends." He shrugged again, looking down. 

Sherlock turned in his chair and reached out to rest his hand on John's arm. "We are friends," he said. "We are and I said we were. But I'd like to think we're more than friends . . . you know, or did you forget about last night already?" He smiled a little.

"No, I know we're more than friends . . . I guess I was just worried that you wouldn't . . . I don't know, I might have over reacted," he admitted, looking down again. 

"I think you did," Sherlock said. "But I think also now maybe you should believe me when I say that I can be difficult to know. I hope you don't change your mind."

John shook his head. "I haven't. I'm sorry," he added sheepishly. 

Sherlock looked over and just then his mother appeared at the conservatory door. "Sorry to interrupt, but your father and I are going out. Do you need anything bringing back?" she asked.

"No, we're good," Sherlock said. "We might go get some lunch or something." He looked at John quickly and then turned back to his mother. "Has he gone as well?"

"Your brother left," she said. "I wish you two would . . . anyway, he's gone. We'll be back around four, okay? Text if you need anything."

"All right," Sherlock said.

John smiled at her as she left. He leaned back in the chair and looked over at Sherlock. "It wasn't a complete disaster, was it? Bringing me here?"

"Not for me," Sherlock said. "My family is . . . clearly unusual -- as a result, I suppose I am as well. I'm not sorry for that, but I'm sorry if it means that I'm sometimes confusing."

"No one is unusual," John said. "Everyone was nice. Well, except your brother. And I didn't actually meet your dad so . . . your mum really. And you," he smiled. 

"I'm glad you think I'm nice," Sherlock said. "So, would you like a tour of the house?"

"Sure," John nodded. 

Sherlock led John through to the stairs, waving his hand randomly and saying, "This is the downstairs." On the first floor, he went in the second room on the right and said, "This is my room." He sat down on the bed.

John looked around and smiled at the various beakers and stacks of papers. "Seems like you," he said. 

Sherlock looked over at John. “Εισαι τοσο όμορφος.”

John bit his lip as he tried to figure out what Sherlock was saying without his dictionary. "What are you saying about me?" he asked. 

"I didn't say anything," Sherlock said. He looked down. "It might have been my bed talking. Maybe you should come over here in case it's got something else to say." He could hardly believe his silliness, but it felt like he couldn't stop himself.

John walked over with careful, obvious steps, smiling softly as he sat down. Then he lay back, his ear pressed to the covers. "I'll listen closely."

Sherlock shifted and lay back as well, leaning over John. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, lifting a hand to John's head.

John pressed a kiss on the bed covers, grinning at Sherlock. 

"I think it was asking on my behalf," Sherlock said, leaning down and kissing him.

John kissed Sherlock with more enthusiasm, humming softly. 

Sherlock crawled over top of John and began to roll his hips. "Yes?" he asked as he bent down to kiss John again.

John nodded, the only sound coming out a soft, breathless moan before he found Sherlock's lips again. He held onto Sherlock's hips, moving his own with them. 

Sherlock put his hands over John's shoulders to push himself up a bit. He separated his legs so he could get a little more stable before thrusting a bit harder.

"God," John moaned softly, lifting his upper body to kiss Sherlock's mouth and jaw and neck. Then he flopped down again to move his hips easier, harder. 

Sherlock rocked a few more times and then dropped down again. He lowered himself down John's body and fumbled with his trousers until he could reach his cock. He leaned over and began to cover it with licks. John squirmed and shifted under Sherlock, gasping softly when he felt Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock sucked John into his mouth, using his tongue to press up and down John's cock. He slid down the bed a bit so he could press his own hips against John's leg.

John moaned softly running a hand through his own hair as he gripped the bedding. He moaned Sherlock's name, squirming in an attempt to keep still. 

Sherlock lifted his head. "Can we do it again?" he asked. "I've got stuff."

John nodded. "All right," he said, pressing down on himself.

"It's just been so long since I've done this," Sherlock tried to explain as he quickly reached for his bedside drawer. "I'm just eager," he added, smiling down at John.

"I can't judge, I am too," John smiled, touching Sherlock's cheek lightly. 

Sherlock poured some lube into his hand and then slicked the area between John's legs. He leaned over John as he slowly pushed a finger inside, dropping down to kiss his mouth hungrily.

John returned the kiss hungrily, arching to push up into his hand. 

Sherlock pumped his finger urgently. He kept kissing John roughly as he slid another finger inside. Soon, he sat up again, grabbing at a condom and rolling it on, before leaning over John again as he pushed inside him.

"Oh! Fuck," John sighed loudly, letting his legs fall open a bit as he moved with Sherlock. He hooked his hand behind Sherlock's neck, kissing him hard. 

"Make yourself come, John," Sherlock huffed as he thrust into him. "I won't last long . . ."

John reached between them and started stroking himself quickly, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt Sherlock moving deep inside of him. Sherlock's body was tight and warm as he lowered his head to kiss John's mouth. All of a sudden it was too good, though, and he was coming and calling John's name loudly. John gasped and rubbed over the head of his cock, coming between them with a soft cry. 

Sherlock dropped down on top of John, panting and running his hand over John's head. "Sorry, but God, that felt good," he exhaled. "I like doing that with you." He lifted his head and gave him a soft kiss.

John nodded breathlessly, still panting softly. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, holding him close.

Sherlock rolled to John's side and took a deep breath. "We're pretty good at this part -- do you think we'll be able to figure out the non-sex bit so we don't keep having arguments like earlier?" he asked.

John nodded. "We're learning more about each other," he said. "We'll get better at knowing each other."

"I hope so," Sherlock said. He turned on his side and faced John. "I'm not quite sure why we met or why any of this is happening, but I like it. And you." 

"I like you too, Sherlock." John smiled and kissed him softly. 

Sherlock lay back down for a few moments. "So I suppose we should get up and find me a job or something?" he asked.

"I suppose," John agreed, stretching out on Sherlock's bed. 

"You comfortable?" Sherlock said, smiling.

John grinned. "It's more comfortable than my bed," he admitted. 

"Well, we can stay here for a little bit," Sherlock said, pulling the covers over them. "My parents won't be home for a few hours."

"I'll set an alarm. Let's nap -- I mean, stay in bed -- for a bit longer and then I promise I will help you find a job," he smiled. 

"You're not setting a very good example for a job seeker like me," Sherlock said, pulling the phone out of his trouser pockets and setting the alarm. 

John smiled. "Quiet down and cuddle with me." He scooted closer and tucked into Sherlock's side. 

Sherlock slid his arm around John. "Say something sweet to me in Greek," he said.

John smiled softly. "Είσαι ωραίος," he said.

"Close enough," Sherlock said. "You're nice, too, John." He put a kiss on John's face and lay down to rest.


End file.
